


The Case in London

by Hallikinz



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallikinz/pseuds/Hallikinz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester get a case in London, but what they find question their beliefs<br/>Sherlock never even dreamed of a non human killer, until he meets two mysterious brothers even HE can't fully crack</p><p>The Tenth Doctor came to London to find Dean Winchester and Castiel, but three of the most infamous aliens get in his way.</p><p>These three men, an alien, a sidekick, and an angel never knew how much their lives would intertwine. and most of them never knew how their choices in three weeks could drastically alter time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This book changes points of view, although all are in third person. The point of view is told at the beginning of each chapter, as well as the location. The spelling also changes slightly as the P.o.V.'s change from American to English.

Chapter One  
Sam and Dean Winchester  
The bunker  
Lebanon, Kansas, USA

    The Impala doors squeaked as Sam and Dean Winchester closed them. The melting and dirty snow had tints of green where the first grass of the year peaked through. Castiel would already be inside, searching for new cases for the bored hunters. Team Free Will hadn’t had a good case in over a month. Other hunters had either kept up or monsters had been keeping out of trouble...or being really discreet about it. Dean sighed heavily and patted the top of his beloved car.

  
    “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll have some fun soon.” He said solemnly. Sam went into the bunker with his usual calm demeanor but his eyes showed the slight sadness he had. He shook his head at his older brother talking to is car. Dean followed Sam in shortly.

  
    “Remember when we were glad to have a break from hunting?” Sam asked the angel and the other hunter while Dean closed the bunker door. The two nodded slowly in unison.

  
    “Life is so weird without it.” Dean responded, sinking into an ugly fabric chair.

  
    Castiel grabbed three beers from the mini fridge in the library and handed the brothers one each. Sam chuckled as he took the cold glass bottle from the angel in a trenchcoat. “Yeah, having a break from hunting monsters is weird.” Sam paused, “Well, it is for us.”

  
    “I, for one, enjoy it,” Cas chimed in, “gives me time to relax and watch Netflix. I’ve been dealing with Heaven for millions of years. A break from all of the chaos is...nice.”

  
    “Ugh! Shut up, Oprah!” Dean complained, taking a drink of his beer before sulking deeper into the chair, “It was nice for a couple for a couple of weeks but but now I just,” He put his drink on a small table next to him and made a strangling pantomime with his hands, “I just wanna kill something evil again! Or anything at all. It’ll get damn bloody in here soon if we don’t get a case.”

  
    “Wow, Dean. I never knew relaxation could be so toxic.” Sam rolled his eyes, “not to say I don’t agree with you though.” The tall hunter sat in an identical chair to Dean’s, except the seams on the seat were beginning to rip. He pulled it up to the table that held his computer and logged into his e-mail. “We need to get new chairs.” It was silent for a minute, until Sam practically jumped out of his seat, “GUYS!” He said with an extremely excited tone, “remember Joel?”

  
    “Wasn't he that British hunter we met a few years back on that Wendigo case in New Hampshire?”

  
    “Yeah. He moved back to Yorkshire a few months after that case. America got to chaotic. Anyways there is some case in London that he can’t take, so he wants us to take care of it for him. He even sent airfare and money.”

  
    “Dude, that sounds awesome! A paid vacation, AND a job? Th-”

  
    “You just contradicted yourself, Dean.”

  
    “Whatever. I say we do it. Cas?” Dean looked over to where he thought the angel was, but Cas had discreetly disappeared without the Winchesters noticing. Dean shrugged and began to talk, but Cas appeared in the middle of his first word.

  
    “What is it? I heard you call, Dean.” Cas said.

  
    “We got a case. It’s in London. what do you say?”

  
    “You two go ahead and do it. I’m actually going to sit this out. I’m enjoying this break.”

  
    Dean began to protest, but the angel disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. “Whatever, you and I can just do it.” Dean smacked his little brother’s shoulder lightly and took a drink of his beer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
Sam and Dean Winchester  
Central Nebraska Regional Airport  
Grand Island, Nebraska USA

    “I’m not to sure about this,” Dean said nervously, standing on an escalator moving upwards. He felt the circulation in his right arm draining, as Sam had a death grip on it to make sure he didn’t try to run. People surrounded the two brothers, different beeps and chimes everywhere, announcements echoing quietly throughout the building, muffled by the different conversations of the countless people around, “I don’t even have baby. Or all of our arsenal. And what if there’s something on th-”

    “Dude, calm down,” Sam interrupted, “It’s just a plane.” His voice was calm, and the brothers approached the security line. More people flooded behind the two so Sam felt safe enough to release Dean’s arm, but was still ready to grab him again if needed.

    “Just a plane?! We don’t seem to have the best luck with planes!”

    Sam chuckled lightly, “In the past decade, we’ve been on a plane once. You’re over reacting, and you need to get over your fear.”

    “Like you’re fear of clowns?” Dean retorted.

    “Do I need to go into details? Really?” Dean crossed his arms, not recalling all they had been through involving clowns. “Fine. The Rakshasa at Cooper Circus in ‘06, Plucky’s in 2012-”

    “The Rakshasa wasn’t even a real damn clown and plucky’s was just because clowns are your worst fear.”

    “And the plane was because of a demon.”

    Dean opened his mouth to rebuttle but couldn’t think of anything. “At least it’s just an hour long flight.” Sam stifled a laugh and they progressed through the line.

... 

    “We will arrive in London at about 6:13 pm tomorrow.” The stewardess said at the front of the plane.

    “TOMORROW?! But that’s 20 friggin hours!” Dean yelled, “I’m getting the hell out of here!” He fumbled with his seatbelt, but even once he got it off, Sam blocked his path out.

    “No way. This is why I took the aisle seat. Stop making a scene.” You could hear the irritation in Sam’s voice.

    “But you lied to me! You said the flight was only an hour!”

    “I didn’t think you were that dumb.” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam and reluctantly sat back down. The stewardess approached the Winchesters’ seats.

    “Is there a problem?” She said sweetly.

    The brothers spoke at the same time.  
    Dean: YES!  
    Sam: No!  
    Sam continued, “No, no, he’s just a little nervous. I’ll try to keep him calm.”

    The stewardess nodded, “Thank you for keeping your, uh, _friend_ in check.”

    “We-we’re not-”

    Dean put his hand on Sam’s knee suggestively, “Don’t worry. If I’m not calm I don’t get a, uh, reward, from him.” Sam gave Dean a look of disbelief and Dean smiled slyly. the stewardess walked away and Dean looked down to where his hand (still) was. He quickly flung it away from his brother’s leg, only barely missing the top of the plane.

    The engines of the plane started audibly and Dean clutched his armrests so hard his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes tightly and cleared his throat slightly, trying to keep as calm as possible.

    “It’s going to be a loong flight. At least for you.” Sam laughed, then turned on his iPod and closed his eyes.

. . .

    Sam walked off the plane, carry-on in hand, calm as casual. Dean, groaning behind him, was stumbling and crashing into walls, jet-lagged and nauseated,

    “Never again, Sammy!” He complained, leaning over to the side with one hand on a wall.

  
    “We have to do it again in a month to get back home, Dean.” Sam said, continuing to walk, not bothering to wait for his brother-who was still groaning 20 feet behind Sam. Slowly, very, very slowly, Dean began walking (slowly) toward Sam and the baggage claim.

    “Why can’t we just drive back? Sure, it’ll take longer but at least we won’t have to fly again!”

    “I thought you were just jet lagged, but apparently you’re delirious as well.”

    “What?”

    “You do realize there is an OCEAN between here and Kansas, right? And either way, how would we get a RENTAL car back?”

    “Well, in that case, we’re moving here,” the boys found their suitcases then headed to the car rental desk, “I just want Baby.”

. . .

    “What the hell?!” Dean’s voice echoed through the parking garage as he looked at the, uh, he didn’t even know what seat. What was usually the passenger’s side had a steering wheel like it was the driver’s side.

    “Maybe you should just let me drive.” Sam chuckled at his brother’s confusion.

    “THEY PUT THE DAMN STEERING WHEEL ON THE WRONG DAMN SIDE!” Dean yelled. Or perhaps he spoke normally, the echo added 10 decibels.

    “No, they didn’t. Seriously, dude, let me drive. They drive on the left side of the road too.”

    Dean gawked and went to the, uh, British passenger’s side.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Chapter Three

Sherlock and John  
221B Baker Street  
London, England

     It was when they had no case that John Watson fully understood the extent of Sherlock Holmes’ oddness.

     They hadn’t had a good murder case in over three weeks, just a few extremely simple investigations here and there.

     “Child’s play!” Sherlock called them.

     The majority of this time, Sherlock stood over his mantel, staring at his skull. At times he said a few sentences to it, things that made sense to Sherlock, but none to John. His elbows on the mantelpiece, his finger touching the parallel tips, thumb on thumb, index finger on index finger, and so on. His index fingers were also gently pressed against his lips, his mind was far away from the London flat.

     This trance Sherlock was in was also known as his “mind palace.”

     17 days he had been there, only leaving when absolutely essential, he didn’t even sleep. No time for such frivolous things, although Sherlock knew all he had was time.

     For this time, Sherlock stayed in the same attire. A long, light grey bathrobe, the ribbon untied and brushing the ground. Under the robe he had light blue and white vertically striped pajamas, and grey slippers on his feet thathad while wool peaking out. His usually-although wild-kept curly hair was now ungroomed and poking out oddly in every direction. In addition to the detective's appearance, you couldn't help but notice the lingering body odor that followed him wherever he walked. Sherlock was, in fact, aware of this, but he was more concerned with why London had suddenly become so peaceful, too peaceful...

     In a large, comfortable chair a few feet away. Sat a preoccupied John Watson on his laptop. He tried best he could to ignore Sherlock (although the smell slightly hindered this), as this sort of behaviour was extremely common. Sherlock's mind palace was his home at and away from home.

     John's computer chimed merrily to inform him of a new email in his inbox. Upon reading the subject line and who it was from, he knew the local police had a case for Sherlock and John. He opened it and skimmed it for the important information, then smiled and closed the laptop. "Sherlock," he whispered, looking over at the detective, "we have a case." He kept his voice barely above a whisper, knowing that he had to keep Sherlock as calm as possible.

      Sherlock immediately exited his mind palace and perked up. "Fantastic!" He exclaimed then turned toward the coat rack to the left of the mantel. He grabbed his dark grey button up coat and dark blue (perhaps TARDIS blue) scarf, then started down the stairs toward the door. John ran ahead to block the exit.

     "Maybe a shower before we go?" He suggested. Sherlock sighed, annoyed, and walked back up the stairs and toward his bathroom, dropping the scarf and coat in a mess behind him.

     John picked up the scarf and coat and hung it neatly on the rack again, then went to the fridge to get some food before they left. He planned on making Sherlock eat as well, but he gave up as soon as the odor of Sherlock's, uh, supplies hit his nose. They were worse than the detective's smell!

     Sherlock came out of his bathroom ten minutes later wearing a suit and burgundy tie, his generally curly hair flat and wet. Only the top was slightly curling again. "Can we go now, Watson?" He asked his assistant. John rolled his eyes and pointed towards the door, motioning that they could go. Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf again then put them on.

     "It's below freezing outside, Sherlock, and your hair is wet." John pointed out.

     "And your point is?" Sherlock replied, slipping an arm into a coat sleeve. His voice was obviously annoyed.

     "My point is you should-"

     "I am not going to dry my hair!" Sherlock snapped.

     "Put on a hat. I was going to say put on a hat. You should let people finish their sentences sometime. They may have something important to say."

     Sherlock sighed heavily, "No time for such frivolous things. Let's go." He put on a hat and raced downstairs and out the door before John could try and stop him again. John sighed and followed Sherlock leisurely across the street, where the crime scene and two odd brothers were waiting.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four  
Sam and Dean  
An unnamed motel  
London, England

The Winchester brothers pulled into a spot at the motel they were staying at for their three week London job/vacation. The motel sat on Baker street, across from a building that seemed eerily familiar to Sam.

Dean took out their luggage from the back end of the white Land Rover they rented, the bags containing their tools that they couldn’t bring on the plane. Sam got the carry-ons, that held their clothing, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and Sam’s hair brush. Sam checked the boys in and Dean scouted the area for EMF. The crime scene was only a block away, and Dean wanted to be safe rather than sorry. They planned to get settled in then put on their suits and head to work.

They were checked into room number ten, which had two twin beds with bright blue comforters and gray pillow cases, a small end table in between them, a cramped bathroom, and a kitchenette. The walls were also blue, like the beds, and had England flags lining the ceiling.  
“Gross. Looks like an over eager tourist threw up in here!” Dean remarked after observing the room.

. . .

They unpacked their bags and put on their suits and ties, then slipped their fake FBI badges into the the inner pockets. When they reached the newest crime scene (as there had been a rash of extremely similar murders) police were still there and so was the body. They flashed their badges to the first officer in front of the yellow tape.

‘’Agents Angus and Young.’’ Sam said.

‘’FBI? Whats FBI doing in London?’’ The officer asked the brothers.

‘’Expansion. Management is trying to move some FBI agents to, uh, the Yard.’’ Dean responded. The officer reluctantly nodded the boys past, but a man with damp, curly hair stepped behind them and stopped them again. He waved the officer away and looked Dean straight in the eyes.

“Though those officers might be oblivious, I know that neither Scotland Yard nor the FBI would ‘switch out’ agents. I also know that, even if they would do this, you aren’t FBI.”

“What? Yes I am!” Dean protested.

“No. No you’re not. I can tell because you shift slightly when you lie.”

“What? No I don’t!”

“Fine. Then tell me you’re FBI.”

“I’m FBI!” Dean yelled, Sam was observing his brother as he spoke.

“Actually, Dean, you do shift.” Sam chuckled.

“Dean looked down at his feet and sighed. He looked up with an irritated look and said, “Son of a Bitch!”

Sam laughed again and looked at Sherlock, “So what’s your point?”

“My point is that you two aren’t FBI. That means that you are either trespassing for your own enjoyment, or you have other, secret business. Based on your attire and having such sufficient counterfeit badges, it must be that latter.”

“Yes, extremely secret. None-of-your-business secret.” Dean crossed his arms.

“Actually, it is. I am the best detective in London. Better than anyone in Scotland Yard. In fact, when the Yard needs help, they come to me. When I need help, I, well, that is none of your business. The focus is you two.  
“I have figured you two out. You are hunters. Not regular hunters though. That’s where i’m confused.”

“What the hell?!” Dean yelled.

“I noticed a gun imprint on your right side-which, in addition, shows you are both right handed. I can tell you are strong physically, and mentally, which we will get to in a moment, especially in the legs, so you must run a lot, and in the arms and core so you must fight as well. But no one with that look in their eyes that show you have seen horrible, horrible things are simply street fighters. You have many scars, some like like knives did it, some look as though an animal bit you. The gun is a handgun, which aren’t used for animal hunting. But the other things I have observed in the short time since I’ve met you point to hunter.  
“And even if you were normal hunters, normal hunters have no business in a crime scene where we know that it was not an animal attack even before the autopsy.”

“Well, you’re wrong. We are normal hunters.”

“And you’re lying. You shifted again.”

Dean groaned heavily. “Fine! You’re right. We aren’t normal hunters. But this is our sort of thing. And if you know what’s best for you and your life you’ll leave us alone.”

The apparent “amazing” detective scoffed and looked Dean with an extremely intense look that startled the hunter. “I don’t work with Americans and I’m the best detective in England. I don’t need your help or approval from anyone. Especially you tourists.” A shorter man with ginger/blonde hair and pointy ears that the brothers hadn’t noticed earlier popped out from behind the still un-named detective. He cleared his throat and stared at the detective, “Besides, uh, John. My assistant.”

John grunted and looked at the brothers kindly. “I’m sorry, is Sherlock giving you trouble?" He looked back at Sherlock, “Come on. he have business and so do they. We aren’t doing anyone any favours by wasting time.” He grabbed Sherlock’s forearm, who pulled it away in a swift motion, "Sorry boys. His EGO seems to get in the way some-a lot of the time."

"Oh, shut up John!" Sherlock snapped from behind, as he was clearly annoyed with John and irritated with the hunters.

"We'll just get out of your,” John looked at Sam, “hair. Come along, Sherlock.” John grabbed Sherlock’s arm again and dragged him away. Sam gave John a dirty look, then pulled a piece of his hair behind his ear.

Sam walked to the most recent victim 10(ish) feet away to examine. Dean watched the detective and his partner, his eyes squinted and his lips in a slight pucker. He could hear John scolding Sherlock for showing off again.

“Dean! Get over here, come look at this!” Sam called to Dean. He rushed over to the body and his younger brother.

“Look at what? It’s a body. We’ve seen plenty of these.” Dean asked, his eyebrows in a confused furrow.

“And do you see any reason she could have died?” Sam pointed towards a young, pale woman, with long blonde hair sprawled everywhere. Dean investigated the body for a few minutes then looked back at Sam and shook his head. “Exactly. There isn’t any visible signs of how she died. It’s like she just dropped dead in the middle of the street.”

“Could have died from a stroke or something.” Dean’s voice, although firm, was unsure, because he knew that this couldn’t be the case, but he wanted his geek brother to justify it.

Sam shook his head, “This isn’t TV, Dean. People don’t just drop dead like this the second they have a stroke, even if they do go spontaneously into cardiac arrest. It takes at least a few minutes, and she would have noticed something was wrong and called 911. And either way, why would Joel send us here if that was true?”

“Then...What the hell?”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Doctor

Just landed in a London Alley

London, England

 

     The TARDIS’ engine whirred, appearing and disappearing multiple times before landing in one final spot. The tenth Doctor stepped out and patted the side of his beautiful ship then closed the door. A gust of cold wind hit him, making the bottom of his trench coat fly up. He knew his mission: Find Dean Winchester and Castiel, as they were in danger. From what? The Doctor didn’t know what. Why they needed saving so bad? The Doctor didn’t know that yet either. The TARDIS just told him to come here, and so he did. 

 

     His coordinates said that Dean and Castiel were in a motel a few blocks east of where he Landed, so, Sonic Screwdriver and psychic paper in hand, he followed the coordinates implanted in his brain. On his way, he passed a crime scene, no body, it must have been taken away earlier. Just in case, he pushed the button on the side of his sonic screwdriver to investigate, it buzzing as he moved it back and forth. He turned it off and flicked open the side of screwdriver and examined the writing only he could see.

 

     “Daleks!” He grumbled through clenched teeth. He looked at the screwdriver again, “What? Cybermen too?” He blinked and it changed again, Weeping angels?!” He watched it intently, it fluxuating between the three aliens. The three he hated most. “What in Gallifrey?!”

 

     He decided to come back to the scene later, and focus on Dean and Castiel right now. He arrived at the motel they were supposed to be staying at and say a single vehicle in the lot, on space ten. He knew that that had to be where the two were. He walked to the door with a silver, metal number  _ 10 _ and knocked. 

 

     “Sammy? Is that you?” A gruff voice asked from inside. “Hold on, I’m talking to Sherlock!”

 

     “Dean Winchester?” The Doctor asked.

 

     “Who’s asking?”

 

     “Never mind that. Are you decent?” The Doctor got ready to unlock the door. 

 

     “What? Uh, yeah?”

 

     “Alright, I’m coming in!” The Doctor unlocked the door and walked inside to see Dean Winchester on the phone.

 

     “What the-” Dean yelled, “Uh, Sherlock, I’ll have to call you back!” A short pause, “Okay, okay, fine! I’ll text you!” He hung up the phone and stared at the Doctor. “What the hell? Who are you!?” He grabbed a gun from his waistband and aimed it at the Doctor, “You’d better get talking! Who and what are you!?”

 

     The Doctor cleared his throat and said with a cheesy smile, “I’m the Doctor!” His smile dropped as fast as he put it on, remember his mission. He grabbed Dean’s shoulders and looked him in the eye, the barrel of the gun against the Doctor’s chest, “Quickly, Where is your husband?!”

 

     “My-my what? My husband? I’m not gay. You better explain yourself really quick, or you’re going to have a bullet in your chest”

 

     “You don’t want to do that. I’ll just regenerate. And anyways, your husband! You know, the one in the trench coat!”

 

     “Wait what? Cas? I’m not gay. Man, you aren’t making any sense. Who sent you? Was it Joel? Was this case just a prank to get me on a plane? Dammit!”

 

     “I can assure you, this was not a prank. Wait...what year is it?”

 

     “Two thousand...sixteen..?” Dean said slowly. The Doctor could see the confusion in his face.

  
     “Oh no. Sorry, Dean Winchester, wrong year!” The Doctor turned and left as quickly as he came in, and yelled “Nononononononononononononono!” All the way back to his TARDIS.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

The Doctor

The TARDIS

London, England

 

“I don’t understand!” The Doctor yelled inside the TARDIS. He half expected Martha Jones to yell out a witty remark, forgetting that she was back home with her family in...2010 he believed. “Where did I go wrong!” He yelled to himself.

He played with buttons and knobs and levers in an order only he understood. He read a swiveling monitor that read, “November 17, 2020, room ten” He smacked his forehead, realizing his mistake.

“OH! I have the wrong date!” He paused and looked back at the screen, “And yet they are in the exact same hotel and hotel room. Interesting. Well, I suppose I should go there now.”

He back to mess with more levers when he realized the, erm, issue he found earlier.

“WAIT!” He yelled at the TARDIS and it, somehow, listened to him, which never happened. “Ah! Thank you. Good girl.” He said while petting one of the railings.

He exited the TARDIS and patted her door again, and it began to leave.

“NONONONONONONONONO!! NO! Don’t do this! NO!” The TARDIS’ engines whirred and it began to disappear.

 _She'll be back,_ he thought,  __ _She always comes back._

He stood there for ten minutes, waiting for his TARDIS. “Okay, fine! I’ll solve this odd Dalek-Cybermen-Weeping-Angel issue then maybe you’ll be back.” He stormed away from the site of the TARDIS. He found the crime scene, which still had police tape, but no body anymore.

He began to turn on his sonic screwdriver, but was interrupted by the local police, “excuse me, sir, but this is a crime scene.” The copper said.

The doctor pulled out his psychic paper and flashed it to the cop, “Scotland Yard, just some further investigation.”

“I’ve never seen you at the yard,” The cop said suspiciously.

“I’m usually working. Working much larger cases than this simple murder. I just needed a break from the stress. Now, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, sorry.” The officer left, and The Doctor switched on his beeping sonic screwdriver and followed the signal of the aliens.

  



	7. Chapter 7

Chapter eight  
Sam and dean  
Room ten  
London, England

Sam opened the door to the motel room and plopped his duffel bag of hunting supplies (holy water, guns, knives, dead man's blood, salt, etc.) On the closest bed to the door. He sighed heavily and day next to the bag.

Dean walked out if the bathroom, still shaken from the visit he got a few hours earlier. He saw Sam and pulled his gin out of his waistband, then quickly realized his mistake and put it back.

"What's with you?" Sam asked, raising one eyebrow in confusion.

"Dude, the weirdest thing happened while you were gone." Dean said, sitting down next to Sam and kicked the bag off. Sam shoot him a look, but was more interested in what Dean had to tell him.

"What?"

"Some freak came in ranting about me and Cas."

"Okay, and...?"

"AND he said Cas was my husband. HUSBAND! I'm not gay!"

Sam chuckled, "Dean, you're my brother. I think i would know if you were gay."

"Exactly! What the hell, man?!" Dean started wringing his hands, then got a beer for him and Sam. He opened his and took a large swig, then sighed in relief oh the alcohol.

"Maybe it was a prank." Sam suggested, taking a drink off his own beer, then ran a hand through his hair.

"From who? Who would do that?"

"Joel, maybe?"

"Does he even know about Cas? And even if he does, why would he say he's my husband? Why can't he be yours?"

Sam shrugged and laughed, "Well, I mean, you were the only one here. If I was here then Cas could have been my husband." Both boys were thinking about how word it was that they were talking about Cas being their husband, he was an angel... And neither Winchester was gay. At all.

"The way you're talking though," Sam continued, "it seems as though if Cas was my husband in this whole thing you'd be jealous."

Dean's eyes widened as this absurd statement, but something deep inside told him Sam might be right. "What? No! How could you even think that?!" He denied. Sam shrugged and smiled to himself.

"In other news," Sam said, changing the subject, "we got the autopsy results of all the victims today."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Nine

Sam and dean

“Baby”

London, England

 

“Rugaru?” Dean suggested to Sam, who was during next to Dean in the passenger’s seat on his  laptop. They were in the motel parking lot, but Dean was getting nauseous from the tourist look… Or maybe he just wanted pie.

 

“No, Dean. That isn't even remotely a possibility.” Sam answered. They received the autopsy about a week ago and were baffled by the results…   Electrocution and some weird stone like material in place of some of the bones. They got the other autopsies from the other victims, which all had the same thing. These results were word for even the Winchesters!

 

Dean rubbed his eyes  simultaneously with two fingers and groaned, “well then we're out of options! There are no other possibilities for monsters!”

 

“Maybe there is some monster here in London we don't know about?” Sam suggested, trying to calm down his brother, who was obviously about to lose his mind.

 

“Ugh. No, Sammy, there it isn't! I even asked Joel! He just said,” he mocked Joel in a childish voice,”’maybe there's aliens.’ are you friggin’ kidding me?”

 

Sam chuckled, “aliens? Really? Joel believes in that? Any respectable hunter knows aliens don't exist.”

 

“Exactly. I think Joel is of his rocker.” Dean made circles around his ears to accentuate his point.

 

“Maybe. Or he could just be testing us, seeing if we're so called ‘respectable hunters.’”

 

“I hope so.” dean looked out the driver’s window at the cold and foggy London day, “Is it always so cold here?”

 

“In winter, yeah.” Sam chuckled lightly.

 

Dream looked back at his brother, “I miss the bunker. Hell, i miss America!”

 

“Will we agreed to do this case and were going to finish it. Besides, we can't leave until Tuesday.”

 

Dean nodded solemnly, then saw something a few years behind Sam, it looked like a robot. “Does London have those word people that dress up in costumes? Like in New York or L.A.?”

 

Dam raised an eyebrow, “I don't know, why?”

 

“Cuz there is a silver robot man coming towards us.”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sam and dean

“Baby”

London, England

 

“Rugaru?” Dean suggested to Sam, who was during next to Dean in the passenger’s seat on his  laptop. They were in the motel parking lot, but Dean was getting nauseous from the tourist look… Or maybe he just wanted pie.

 

“No, Dean. That isn't even remotely a possibility.” Sam answered. They received the autopsy about a week ago and were baffled by the results…   Electrocution and some weird stone like material in place of some of the bones. They got the other autopsies from the other victims, which all had the same thing. These results were word for even the Winchesters!

 

Dean rubbed his eyes  simultaneously with two fingers and groaned, “well then we're out of options! There are no other possibilities for monsters!”

 

“Maybe there is some monster here in London we don't know about?” Sam suggested, trying to calm down his brother, who was obviously about to lose his mind.

 

“Ugh. No, Sammy, there it isn't! I even asked Joel! He just said,” he mocked Joel in a childish voice,”’maybe there's aliens.’ are you friggin’ kidding me?”

 

Sam chuckled, “aliens? Really? Joel believes in that? Any respectable hunter knows aliens don't exist.”

 

“Exactly. I think Joel is of his rocker.” Dean made circles around his ears to accentuate his point.

 

“Maybe. Or he could just be testing us, seeing if we're so called ‘respectable hunters.’”

 

“I hope so.” dean looked out the driver’s window at the cold and foggy London day, “Is it always so cold here?”

 

“In winter, yeah.” Sam chuckled lightly.

 

Dream looked back at his brother, “I miss the bunker. Hell, i miss America!”

 

“Will we agreed to do this case and were going to finish it. Besides, we can't leave until Tuesday.”

 

Dean nodded solemnly, then saw something a few years behind Sam, it looked like a robot. “Does London have those word people that dress up in costumes? Like in New York or L.A.?”

 

Dam raised an eyebrow, “I don't know, why?”

 

“Cuz there is a silver robot man coming towards us.”


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

The Doctor

Baker street

London, England

 

“Oh, ho, ho! We're getting close!” The Doctor exclaimed, running where the signal on his sonic screwdriver said. The beeping became more and more frequent as he neared the aliens. Or maybe alien. The Doctor wasn't sure yet. The beeping became faster and faster, and they led to 221 Baker Street. There was a weeping angel outside of the flats, facing a window in 221B. The Doctor broke in the flat without a second thought and quickly yelled, “DON'T BLINK!” to two men inside. The Doctor kept his eyes trained on the apparent statue outside. The men gave him a questioning look, then a tall, stalky man said very calmly, but with a dangerous edge,

 

“Get out now before I call the police. Or I could just arrest you now. The local police and I are-”

 

“Like that?” The Doctor cut in, crossing his fingers so show what he meant. He quickly looked at the tall man, who did not look amused, then he uncrossed his fingers.

 

The Angel moved closer.

 

“No, we are associates. I happen to be Sherlock Holmes, the best detective in England, possibly the world.”

 

“Whatever happened to not showing off so much?” The smaller man with large ears said.

 

“When did we ever agree to that?” The little man sighed, and the Doctor remembered why he broke in.

 

“Look, homes, can I call you homes? I'll call you that anyway, and Little Man-” during his speaking, the Doctor out his screwdriver on the left inside pocket of his signature trench coat.

 

“John” the little man said, “and it's Ho _ l _ mes, not homes.” the doctor scowled quickly at ‘John’

 

The Angel moved closer.

 

“I like little man better. Anyways, that statute outside is a Weeping Angel. not a statute. And if we don't keep our eyes trained on it, and if we blink, it will attach and either kill you or send you to a different time. But don't look into it's eyes, you'll turn to stone. He saw the detective's expression from the corner of his eyes. He looked confused and annoyed.

 

“Are you insane? A creature that could do that doesn't exist. There are no monsters in this world.” Sherlock said.

 

“Number one, yes there are monsters in this works. Number two,  _ that _ is not a monster, that is an _ alien.” _ Homes looked very annoyed at this point and went up to the doctor, who was still looking at the smell. His eyes became drier and drier.

 

“Listen here… “

 

“Doctor.”

 

“Doctor Who?”

 

“Just the Doctor.” the Doctor tugged his trench coat proudly.

 

“Okay… Listen here,  _ Doctor,  _ I don't know what game you're playing here, but it isn't funny. Did the Yard set you up to this? Trying to see how gullible I can be? Well it won't work. I'm going to tell you one more time.  _ Get. Out. Now.”  _

 

_ “ _ Before I leave, I want you to at least look at this angel outside.” Homes rolled his eyes and looked out the window at the smell that has been moving when the Doctor looked away for a moment. It was now right outside the window and it's eyes were uncovered, it's teeth were snarled, and it has his hand poised by its head, fingers bent like talons.

 

“What is that?” Sherlock whispered just loudly enough for the Doctor to hear.

 

“A Weeping Angel. You need to keep staring at it and not blink. Blink, and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you could imagine. The more you blink, the closet you come to your life ending.”

 

Sherlock looked at the Angel, and so did Little Man. The Doctor smiled at their acceptance and looked at the Smell as well.

 

“But,” Sherlock began, “aliens and monsters don't exist.” 

 

“There is more to the world than you know.” though it seemed Homes had not exactly…  _ Accepted  _ his harsh, new reality, he didn't protest anymore.

 

There was a long and eerie silence of the three men just staying at the Angel, each blinking in their own time, and it was mistitle mostly sage with them all starting at it.

 

“How long must we do this?” Sherlock grumbled.

 

“Not sure.”

 

“Well how do we kill it?” Little Man piped in.

 

“Well…” The Doctor squeaked.

 

“You don't know, do you?” 

 

“No. I do know _ how _ to kill it, but we don't have the  _ what _ to kill it.”

 

“And that would be?”

 

“Another Angel. The only way a Weeping Angel can die is if one looks at another. They can't move while being looked at, so when one looks at another, well they can never move again. Now, technically that do present kill them, but it does stop them forever. Well, it might kill them eventually, because they feed off people's time. And time in general. Wrote perplexing creatures, really. I would love to study them, if they weren't so… You know.”

 

“And how do they”--Sherlock used air quotes--”’feed off time’?”

 

“The simply touch you. That is one of the reasons they uncover their eyes. They touch you and send you back--or possibly forward--in time. How they feed off that is beyond me. I have no idea!”

 

“And the other reason they uncover their eyes?”

 

“To turn people into stone. Look in their eyes and you will turn to stone in a few hours.”

 

“Will, that explains the whole thing with the victims’ bones, right, Sherlock?” Little Man said.

 

“I suppose so.” Sherlock answered distantly.

 

“What?” The Doctor asked, confused.

 

“The victims’ autopsies, they all had the same thing. Their bones were replaced with stone. And they were also electrocuted.” Little Man told the Doctor.

 

“THAT EXPLAINS THE CYBERMEN AS WELL!” 

 

“What?” 

 

The Doctor began to pace same Little Man started at him, leaving Sherlock on his own to stare at the Angel, “but what of the Daleks? And why are these three working together?” He gasped, “DEAN AND CASTIEL!” He looked at Little Man, “sorry to game to leave you two here, but, uh, I have to go. Just remember, don't blink or look into the eyes. Okay, good? Good. Bye!” The Doctor ran outside, the bottom of his trench coat flying out behind him. He needed to get back to Dean Winchester, before it was too late.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven

Castiel

The Bunker

Lebanon, Kansas

 

Castiel loved this vacation. Alone. With just him and Netflix. 

 

But something was missing.

 

It was odd.

 

At first, he thought it was simply the silence that tainted him, the absence of the Winchester’s bickering, the late night drinking, the glow of laptops, the loading of guns.

 

But after doing a case of his own, trying to rid the put he felt in his stomach, a feeling he hadn't felt since he was human, he realized that that wasn't it. It was something else.

 

The movies and TV shows kept him distracted for only so long, before he could hold back the feeling any longer. He genuinely missed Sam and Dean. He would have zapped himself over to where they were--and he almost did--but he couldn't locate them because of the sigils he burned into their rib cages. So he waited.

 

And waited.

 

And waited.

 

Until he heard a voice.

 

And he felt so happy.

 

It was Dean's voice, calling him.

 

Calling _ to _ him.


	12. A/N NOT AN UPDATE!!! IMPORTANT!!!

I wrote the last three chapters of the book on my phone, offline google because I don really get wifi at home. I plugged in my phone last monday and the battery shorted out, breaking the phone and losing the last three chapters of The Case in London. That was like five pages of work, all gone forever. I am so so infuriated that I can't even rewrite them for a while. I'm so so sorry, everyone. Please please be patient with me, as it could even be a few months before I put up the rest of the book.


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